The rumble comes from deep in the throat, a low place, breath slow and soaked in the shaping of sound, a snarled pranayama, the chords fold and judder, their own capricious Ring of Fire. We never expect it. Our lips pull up in the way that we signal disgust, or mimic singing a Motley Crue song, our nostrils spread open in the scrunch, and the teeth, the canines, specifically, reveal themselves in the snarl. And the sound of gravel, of rumble, of some force coming. Growl. We can't even say the word without yielding effort, a full commitment of the mouth to convey the idea. A full, open-wide presence. We are predators, this sound speaks. But what does that mean?
--Miah Jeffra, @miahjeffra
Photo by Lucas Moraes
Listen to Miah today at 5pm at @eraartbar 🔥🎤📚